


Fallen Snow

by Macaria_Czol



Series: Snow from the North [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Civil War, Death, Desertion, Multi, War, Warrior - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-26 00:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16209278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macaria_Czol/pseuds/Macaria_Czol
Summary: A Northern fighter commits the greatest sin after a fierce battle. She should have known better.





	Fallen Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short, quick one-shot from the world of Corinth. Kasmira is a fighter that has had a rather long day and it is not going get any better. 
> 
> And a link to the picture that inspired me  
> https://i.pinimg.com/236x/c3/0a/55/c30a55f60a2cc9d45d8b6ce5d1bcb52f--celtic-warriors-female-warriors.jpg

For deserters, death is considered too kind a fate. A harsh reality that had been ingrained into Kasmira since the day she had first picked up an axe. Harsh and unyielding was the only constant in Glacia, there had once been more. Not much more, but life had been easier when the city had stood. At times though, usually when she found herself covered in another’s blood and fighting off the unrelenting cold, Kasmira doubted that life in the North had ever been more forgiving. Not that she would ever know, by the time she had been born, there had been nothing left except ruins and the need to survive. And survive, the people did…until She came. 

Kasmira glanced around carefully, studying the banks of the river for any sign of movement as she stealthy moved further away for the burning pyres and clinging sent of death that surrounded today’s battle field. Ash lingered on her tongue and her nails still had dirt on them from the graves she’d help dig. Both sides had suffered heavily losses, unnecessary losses. The young fighter paused at the edge of the river and glance down, the reflection of the dark blue war paint that covered half her face sent a chill down her spine. Her axes had brought down at least five of the King’s men, of that she had no doubt. No man could survive a severed neck. 

She’d always been proud to be a fighter, had fought desperately to prove her worth and become a rider. When she was young, Kasmira had despaired that she would never be strong enough. Her slender frame did not speak of a warrior’s build and her brown hair had marked her mash heritage. Her father had at times regretted not leaving her out in the snow as a babe. Especially since her birth had taken the life of her mother, a woman that was proven to be too weak for the North. A trait her father’s second wife had not had. The woman had been Glacian through and through. The three sons that she ended up bearing only served to highlight Kasmira’s flaws. Which in turn had only forced Kasmira to work even harder to prove herself. 

She’d found her strength in stories, the tales of her people and those who had proven themselves to stronger than the gale winds and relentless blizzards. Among the legends, Kasmira had found her hero. Nikita Novak. Novak was everything that the North consumed, small and weak from birth. The child of a Mash woman, just as she was. However, he went on to prove himself to be the greatest of their warriors. His running of the Gauntlet was legend, he became the youngest commander in their entire history, he’d saved the King. There had been so much in Nikita Novak that had given Kasmira hope that she’d made him her inspiration. Not that she could have ever breathed a word of her respect for him, because the king that Novak saved ended up destroying him. Novak’s betrayal of the North and his sordid affair with King Emory was the greatest sin ever committed in the eyes of Glacians. 

It had been desertion, Kasmira thought, her face contorting into a cynical grimace as she stepped into the cold water, her rider leathers protecting her flesh. It was a bit amusing, in hindsight perhaps she had been setting herself up for this fate since the first time she had heard of Novak and thought only of his greatness and not his shame.

When Novak’s daughter had returned to Glacia, Kasmira had been enthralled. Runa Novak was everything that she longed to be. Strong and brutal, a natural leader who spoke freedom from the South and pride for the North. Her fierce words cast a spell over many of Glacia’s fighters and Kas had been one of the first to join her forces. 

She had believed in Runa with every fibre of her being until she had stood on the battlefield. Surrounded by the sounds of war, men’s dying groans, the wails of slain horses and the constant clang of steal had rung in her ears as she watched. Watched in disbelief as Runa Novak gave the signal for the king, her brother in all but blood, to be killed. The King’s lover a casualty of the callous order as the arrow had driven through her slender body and into Fox II.

In that moment, Kasmira had realized that there was no glory to be found on this battlefield. Nor was there any purpose to this war, because it was not about a country’s freedom. No, it was a broken, little girl looking for revenge. A fact she had seen when spotting Runa’s face as her brother fell. 

It was a realisation that had festered in her mind all day, as she toiled through blood, sweat and mud from the battlefield, to camp and it had sprung into full blown rebellion after she had patted down the last bit of soil on her brother’s grave. Her hands clenched into tight fists as Misha’s broken body and caved-in skull flashed through her mind. His death did not mean more to her than any other, in all honesty, but all the senseless deaths plagued her and she knew she would not take a part in it anymore. No matter the cost.  
“Kasmira.” The hoarse growl shattered the silence, the soft hiss of a sword being unsheathed bringing Kas to full attention. Tilting her head, she caught sight of one of Runa’s Riders walking towards her. The look of disgust in his eyes left no doubt that he knew what Kasmira was doing. This was the end, caught before she even got away. Not all surprising, still it was a fate she’d hoped to outrun. She wasn’t ready to die. 

“Nikoli” Kasmira responded grimly, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her axe tightly for a split second, gathering her strength. The blade flashed in the dull light of the marsh, Kas arm moving like a whip as she threw the hand axe at Nikoli’s face. The crunch of bone splintering joined the sounds of death that echoed in Kasmira’s ears still. He’d hesitated, Kas thought with a wrinkle of her nose as she retrieved her axe, her blade making a sickening krrr sound as she pulled it free from the red gore that had once been her friend’s face. He should have run her through rather than bothering to confront her. 

One more needless death, another fault to lay at Runa Novak’s feet. Letting out a tired sigh, Kasmira continued crossing the river, carefully picking her way south. It would not be long before another noticed her absence and Kas hoped to have more miles between her and her former comrades before dawn.


End file.
